Component of a Picture
by Kooro
Summary: Gazing at that vast sky, I suddenly felt very small and alone. I guess I wasn't going to paint that picture after all. Bromance. CHARACTER DEATH
1. Chapter 1

**Wow… I haven't posted anything new since January. A whole half of a season has come and gone and I haven't written anything about it. That sucks. **

**Well, this quarter has been pretty busy. Lots of reading, writing, and testing. I'm in finals week now so, after that, I'll be getting some free time. Finally, I have so much to write about for season 2.5. **

**And, I don't know about you, but I find it a little unnerving that the first thing I post in two months is a death fic. I mean, this is my first death fic. Ever. I hate killing the main characters. That being said, I hope it's good, being my first time and all. **

**I'd say "enjoy" but, come on, it's a death fic. So, I hope it's a good one. **

**._._._._._.**

Components of a Picture

Clouds were strewn thinly across the blue sky like an old blanket of faded white, jagged tears running along the middle where the fabric had been cut through to expose the bright blue on the other side and patches of fabric where the strands had simply frayed and worn thin so that that beautiful blue could peek through.

The wind moved at a lackadaisical crawl, sweeping the dust across the ground and then rolling languidly over me without even acknowledging my existence, and then continuing on at its same pace. It barely touched the sky ahead at all. The blanket rippled gently, the white slowly drifting to the left like a leaf sailing unhurried over the calm glass of a lake.

I heard water lapping quietly against an unseen shore to my right but I didn't feel like turning my head to look at it. If I wanted to see it, all I had to do was close my eyes and let the sound of the water paint a portrait of itself in my head.

The water wasn't very clear, more of an opaque brown than a crystalline blue, but I knew that as soon as it broke over the pebbles that marked the line between water and land, the sun would hit the stray drops that escaped the whole of the river. And for less than a second those drops would be illuminated with a shine that they would never have achieved if they hadn't risked leaving the safety of the river. And then they would splash against the pebbles and die with only a dark stain to mark the place of their death. But it had been worth it. It had been worth leaving the confines of the river to be trapped on land and die because those drops had sparkled with a clarity and brightness that was thought impossible to the murky water.

I opened my eyes again in time to see a jet sew a straight thread of white into the blanket overhead like a pointed needle piercing the worn fabric and sailing through in search of the seam. The jet flew out of my vision and I didn't bother to follow it. Instead, I examined the contribution it had added to the clouds.

The thin strand of white was so plumb and fresh against the dull and withered clouds. But slowly, its tail started to deteriorate and come undone. Its end frayed and blurred until it merged with the original clouds and became indistinguishable from the other strands that it had previously contrasted with such resolve. Slowly, the disease spread along the strand as the wind picked apart its body so that the sky could regain its uniformity.

I suddenly wished I had an empty canvas and some paints. I wanted to preserve this sight with my brush. I guess I could wait till I got home to paint. I was an expert at remembering. All I have to do is see something once and I can remember it forever. Well, maybe almost forever. Long enough to get home and paint the snapshot I had taken in my head.

There was a sudden stabbing pain in my chest and a flaring red seared across my vision. I shut my eyes tight and, slowly, the pain receded once more to a dull throb. The red cleared but a few black spots remained, flickering in and out of view. It took a little longer than last time to get my vision to focus but within another minute or two I was able to see the sky once again. Was it my imagination, or did it get a little darker?

Wondering what the cause of the pain was, I willed my hand to slide along the ground towards my chest. For some reason, my hand felt heavy and a little stiff. Maybe I shouldn't have been lying on the ground for so long. Now my back was going to hurt and my neck was probably going to be sore.

At last, my fingers touched the smooth cloth of my shirt. For a moment, I panicked because I didn't know where my jacket was. But then I remembered that I had discarded it a little while earlier before laying down here. It had become a little too hot and the jacket had lost its comfort. Was that the reason? Didn't I leave it on the ground for a different reason? I think I wanted to be found and the jacket marked a trail. Was that it?

Oh well. I can't remember. Either way, I would retrieve it later.

Reassured, I relaxed again and forced my fingers to climb up the shirt and to my chest until I allowed my palm to rest against the source of my discomfort that sent waves of prickling pain throughout my body.

It was warm. And wet.

That was odd. I don't recall getting wet. And the river was too far to have splashed me. So what was it?

I told my hand to rise so that I could see what was on my chest but it took a minute for my order to be relayed to my hand. At last, it rose into the air, quivering.

Oh, so that was why my chest hurt and my body moved so sluggishly. My hand was coated in red blood, glistening in the light. My blood.

That's right. I remember now. I had been shot.

I let my hand drop back to my chest and returned my gaze to the sky. The plumb thread of fresh white had almost completely melted away. I could barely make out the tendril of white that shone just a shade brighter than the clouds surrounding it.

Gazing at that vast sky, I suddenly felt very small and alone.

I guess I wasn't going to paint that picture after all.

**._._._._._._.**

**The inspiration to write this fic came from a moment when I was sitting in my spare room. Taking a break from some homework, I looked out the window and saw a jet pass by and leave the long strand of white behind. I watched as it slowly ebbed away into the thin clouds that are described in the first paragraph. And it was beautiful, and humbling.**

**Then I thought, "What would Neal think if he saw something like this?" So I made that scenario.**

**Then I thought, "How would Neal be seeing this?" To which the answer was, he was lying down.**

**And then came, "Why was he lying down?" My answer: he was dying. And then this fic was born.**

**I really do like how poetic and descriptive it came out. And it's not done yet. **

**Until next time my friends. Oh, how I have missed thee.**

**Safety and Peace. Hobey-Ho**


	2. Chapter 2

**Some of you may be thinking that it's taking a little too long for Neal to die. But, if you're familiar with my writing, then you'd know that rarely am I able to write something short. So, this fic is still going.**

**But I have evidence that many or you aren't too concerned about the length. Thank you my readers for your reviews and favs. **

**._._._._._._.**

Components of a Picture

_Chapter 2:_

I opened my eyes.

I was still tired but I figured I had slept long enough. I couldn't be sleeping all day. That was wasteful. Plus, I'd get in trouble. I forgot why, but I knew I would.

Of course, my gaze focused first on the sky. The wind had pulled the blanket away. Now it was crumpled up at the horizon like the discarded sheets thrown to the end of the bed, tangled and twisted in a mass of fluffy white.

There were colors now too. Light shades of red, pink, orange, and yellow touched the soft white and seeped into the absorbent cotton. It was like someone had smeared bright pastels across a golden canvas. It was a beautiful painting, one I would love to duplicate.

But it would be hard to copy the work of the sun. I could see some of it peeking over the buildings that were thankfully smaller than their relatives across the river. The sun was getting ready to retire for the day and soon it would be the moon's shift to watch the earth from afar.

The wind had picked up while I had been sleeping and I suddenly wished I had my jacket.

My finger twitched, reminding me that I still had my hand over my chest. I wiggled my fingers to find them lathered in a warm sticky substance. The warmth had spread to consume my entire hand and I could feel it trickling down my side and along my arm.

Right. I was bleeding. I keep forgetting that.

I guess I should access the situation. I had nothing else to do.

I looked to the sky and figured I had been sleeping for maybe an hour or so and I had probably been lying on the ground for a half an hour before that. My hand inspected my wound as my head swam and as I tried to keep my mouth firmly shut tight.

The bullet wound had entered my body on the left side of my chest, slightly below my shoulder. The shooter must have panicked and hadn't bothered to aim. The wound wasn't very big and blood wasn't pouring out of it. Instead, blood coursed out with steady deliberateness like water streaming out of a small hole that had punctured a bottle. I was still alive so my vital organs had been spared. At least, I was pretty sure they had. My chest ached horribly though, and it hurt to breathe. Each rise and fall of my chest brought on a fresh wave of pain. I was sure that bone was broken somewhere.

It seemed I was going to live long enough for blood loss to kill me.

I smiled wryly at the sky, realization of the inevitable manifesting itself out of the irony.

I was dying.

The sky suddenly blurred but I knew it wasn't because of my injury. I knew because I felt the evidence collect at the far corners of my eyes and trickle down the sides of my face to wet my ears.

I didn't want to die. Not like this.

Alone.

I did not want to die alone. I had been alone most of my life. Now that I was coming to the end of it, I wanted someone with me. I wanted someone at my side to watch me go and to remember that I had once been a living being that had lived on this earth. Otherwise, I would be just like the droplets of water that leapt out of the river to crash against the pebbles and die. They had left a mark but soon that mark dissipated and was forgotten as new droplets took its place.

I didn't want to be forgotten.

My ears itched from the tears, and my chest ached from my wound, and my hand burned from my blood. And the sun just sank lower in the sky, and the river just lapped gently against the shore, and the wind just caressed everything it touched; all oblivious to the sufferings of a single individual.

I was scared. Rarely was I really, truly scared, but I was scared now. I wasn't sure if I was shaking from fear or the cold. The movement only further inflamed my wound and this time I wasn't able to suppress the sob that broke from my dry throat.

The sound seemed foreign in the peaceful quiet and I instantly regretted breaking the calm. It was too loud; too broken. I bit back another cry to prevent the noise from intruding the quiet. The scene was so beautiful with the sun setting in a pool of gold that cast the clouds into an array of colors and made the unseen river sparkle that I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't want to be the flaw in the painting.

Maybe my body belonged here, seeped in the landscape. I knew of many artists who had put themselves in their art as part of the landscape. I never quite accustomed myself with the prospect of painting my entire body so that it merged with the background. I put myself into my work in other ways. But now the idea didn't seem so odd. I kind of liked being one with the landscape. I liked it better since I wasn't painted like the ground I lay on, merging me and the ground until I couldn't be seen. Classic forger: always wanting to be recognized.

I closed my eyes with a sigh. Maybe this was ok then. Maybe I could die, just like this, a component of a picture that will never be painted.

I grimaced and a few more tears travelled the set path to my ear. I forced my eyes back open and glared defiantly at the sky. No, I couldn't die just yet. I was still alone.

"Neal?"

At first, I winced, disliking the sound that disturbed the tranquility of the setting, once again creating a flaw in my masterpiece. And then my eyes widened for it was not my voice that caused the disruption. It was another voice entirely. One I knew well.

My head rolled to the side to see the person who had stumbled upon my artwork. And I smiled.

"Neal!" Peter Burke yelled and ran towards me at a full sprint.

The artwork was complete and my fear left me. The pain in my chest lessened as I saw my friend race towards me. Everything was perfect now.

I was no longer alone.

**._._._._._._.**

**All right, Peter's here. Next chapter is the last so… get the tissues. **

**I like the inconsistency is Neal's thoughts. Never having the experience of dying, I'm not really sure what goes on in someone's head, but I figure it's like this.**

**Until next time.**

**Hobey-Ho**


	3. Chapter 3

**Last chapter. **

***Note* If what Neal says doesn't have quotations around it, then it's not being spoken out loud.**

**._._._._._._.**

Components of a Picture

_Chapter 3:_

Peter slid to a stop beside me like a baseball player sliding across the field to reach the safety of the base. And then my view of the sky was blocked by a weathered face with brown eyes sallow from worry and weariness. His mouth was open in silent panting. He had been running for a while, I guess. Probably ever since that man took me. I forgot who that was but it didn't matter now.

Hey partner, I said with a smile that matched the tiredness I saw in Peter's face.

His eyes searched my face and I felt his fingers brush along my forehead and push through my hair. Warm fingertips dried my tears.

I knew you'd find me. You always do.

His eyes traveled down to my chest and his fingers gently took hold of my hand, completely unconcerned with the fact that it was coated in my blood, the red color staining his own fingers. He uncovered my wound and I saw his eyes widen. His gaze flickered to me and, for a moment, I saw the fear and concern swimming in those orbs of bronze. Then he wiped the emotion clear from his face as he looked away again.

I smiled. He didn't want me to worry. He was always trying to protect me.

It's ok, I told him. I know.

He pulled a jacket into view and said something. I wasn't sure what. I saw his mouth move and sound rumbled out to pound dully against my ears filled with cotton, but I couldn't make sense out of the reverberating hum.

Oh, you got my jacket for me. Thanks. I was getting a little cold.

Peter folded my jacket and then carefully eased it under my head. I mumbled my content. That was better. My neck didn't feel so stiff now. But I was still cold.

My free left hand, currently idle at my side, reached up slightly and pinched the end of Peter's jacket. He looked down at my hand and then quickly released the other. He pulled his jacket off and threw it like a blanket over me. He quickly tucked the thick fabric around me, the residual warmth seeping into my shivering body. I smiled my gratitude but he was already looking at someone I couldn't see and shouting orders. His voice vibrated in the air around me and seemed to resonate into my chest. It was too loud. I winced.

A light tapping against my cheek made me open my eyes. I hadn't realized I had closed them but then I was looking up into Peter's face again. He wasn't hiding his fear now. The fact made a sharp pang of dread stab my heart. If Peter was scared, then the situation really was bad.

It's ok, I assured him. You're here. You found me. So it's ok. I trust you.

Peter looked at me and then down to my wound and back. His mouth moved and I focused on that movement. I thought he said sorry but I didn't understand why.

Peter set his jaw bravely and then inhaled deeply before directing his attention back to my wound. He lifted both hands and pressed his palms hard against my injury.

My own cry sounded muffled to my ears as a wave of nauseating pain swept throughout my entire being, piercing me with thousands of knives. My heart hammered in my chest and then all I could hear was my own blood pulsing in my ears. My chest creaked under the pressure and the bullet wound burned with a searing flame that consumed me in white-hot pain. I closed my eyes as my head swam.

That hurts, I complained. One hand had reflexively taken hold of Peter's wrist and was now pushing weakly against him, begging him to stop. But he refused to alleviate the pressure.

He plucked my hand off his wrist and gripped my fingers within his own. I clumsily tried to return the gesture but my hand felt numb and noncompliant.

I opened one eye slightly and peeked out at Peter. He was looking at me again with such apology and pain that, for a moment, I wondered who was actually in more agony. His eyes were moist.

Before I could inspect further, he was yelling again. I heard other voices answer him in the same dull thrum and the rhythmic pounding of footsteps rapidly approaching. I thought I caught a glimpse of Diana but everything past Peter had become a blur. So I just focused on him.

He was talking again and I suddenly craved to hear the words he was speaking. I wanted to hear his voice again.

I can't hear you, I explained with a shake of my head.

The pain in my chest had lessened slightly but I was cold again.

What are you saying?

Peter searched my eyes. Then he leaned in a little closer and spoke a single word. I focused on his moving lips, trying to decipher what he was saying. It seemed like he was saying a single word over and over.

Oh, he was saying my name.

The realization seemed to remove the cotton from my ears a little.

"Neal," he said in a rustic voice coarse from his run and wavering with apprehension. "Neal, Neal, Neal…"

I smiled. I can hear you.

His eyes brightened slightly and then died again.

His lips started to move in different gestures now. He spoke slowly so that I could keep up and correctly interpret what he was saying.

_It's ok. You are going to be ok. Help is coming. I'm here. _

I met the gaze of my friend and smiled my gratitude. But I shook my head.

If Peter's expression could fall even more into despair, it did.

It's too late, I said gently. I'm not going to make it.

Peter gripped my hand tightly, making sure I knew that he was there, but my fingers were limp in his grasp.

But it's ok. Everyone dies someday. I guess today's my day.

My vision blurred but I wasn't sure if it was because of the pain or tears. Something wet hit my cheek. My tears? or Peter's?

It's ok, I assured him again. I'm ok. No point in fighting fate. I lived a good life. You gave me a good life. Hell, I had a good life with you. I'm ready.

Someone came to stand beside Peter but I didn't bother to look up to see who it was. I kept my focus on Peter's face. I wanted to look at the face that had looked at me with such pride and sympathy and understanding and sarcasm and jest and protection and admiration for as long as possible. I would miss that face. I would miss Peter. I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to stay with the man whom I considered a partner, a friend, a brother; a father. I wanted to be his family; to come to all his Christmas dinners and New Year's parties and birthdays. I wanted him to come to all of mine. I wanted to continue to work beside him; to have his hand on my shoulder. I wanted to joke with him; to laugh with him; to battle wits against him.

God, how I wanted to stay.

But I had to leave. I understood that. I accepted that.

I'm sorry, I said.

My eyelids were getting heavier and it was getting harder to keep them open. Peter tapped my cheek and jostled my shoulder gently. He shouted some more and shouts answered him in return but he didn't leave me side.

Thanks, I said with a smile. Thank you for everything. Thank you for always looking out for me, for following me into whatever trouble I got myself into; for always having my back, even in the illegal stuff. Thanks for defending me against agents and criminals alike. Thanks for accepting me and taking me into your life. Thanks for giving me a second chance and for believing in me even when no one else did.

I lifted my hand for Peter's hand that was still griping my shoulder. I tugged weakly on his sleeve and then his fingers slipped around mine and squeezed. I led his hand to the space between us.

Sorry for all the trouble, I chuckled.

I gave his hand a shake, or the closest thing to a shake I could do.

If I could, I would do it all again, minus a few things or course.

Our hands fell together to my chest. My grip slackened and then went limp. Peter squeezed my fingers and his eyes searched my face again.

I smiled at him the best I could and let my eyes drift closed.

A loud tremor rumbled against my ears. Peter was shouting at me. I knew it. That's why I didn't sleep in. I knew I'd get in trouble for being late. But I was too tired. I didn't want to open my eyes. I just wanted to sleep.

There was more shouting and then Peter suddenly scooped me up into his arms. He eased one blood-stained hand around my waist to support my back and used the other to press my head against his shoulder. He was so warm. It felt good. I felt him shout some more from the vibrations of his chest. Then I heard my name again. That, at least, I understood: my name.

I opened my eyes. I wanted to see my painting from a vertical view. I could see the river. The dying sun cast the murky waters in a darkening gold. Soon the waters would turn black and then fade to white as the moon rose to take her place in the sky.

The water still lapped against the shore, water splashing against the pebbles and rocks; stray drops shooting through the air like stars, shimmering in a streak of crystalline light and then dying against the unforgiving earth.

I guess it wasn't so bad being like the drop. I wasn't alone so I wouldn't fade into nothing like the escaped droplets did. But I could see the similarities now. Just like those drops of water, I had broken free from my routine life as just another drop of water in a river. And as I had broken free, I had shone with a light I didn't know I had. I had lived a bright life and glimmered like the very gold I had stolen. I had experienced clarity for the first time. But my life, like every life, is fleeting. Now I had dashed against the rocks and was dying. But I would not be forgotten.

Not when Peter was here to remember me. Not when I had Mozzie and June and El and Sara to carry my story with them.

Peter brushed the hair from my face and then returned his hand to my wound. His own shirt was getting stained with the same red that had soaked mine.

My head free, I tilted it back to once again look up at that vast and beautiful sky. It seemed my fate was to be like that of the single strand of white left behind by a passing jet. I lived my life and now I was going to ebb away and join everyone else who had disappeared under that same sky: my mom, and Kate. Maybe, wherever I was going, I would see them again. Maybe. It was a nice thought.

I chuckled. It seems I've become quite the philosopher, I joked.

I was so tired. But there was just one last thing I had to do. I pulled my head forward and let it slump once more against my friend's shoulder.

"Peter..."

Peter looked at me and suddenly all the chaos that had erupted around us faded away. All that was left was myself and the person stubbornly holding on to me, refusing to let me go. I smiled.

"Thanks, partner."

I finally allowed my eyes to close and I relaxed against Peter. I felt him hug me and the warmth his embrace offered coaxed me into the comforting black of sleep. I sighed contently, completely at peace because I knew my partner would keep me safe until I woke up.

Oh. That's right. I won't be waking up.

Now no one would paint that picture.

**._._._._._._.**

**If you'd like, I can write Peter's POV. It would include a little backstory as to why Neal went missing, how he found Neal, how he felt with Neal, and what happened after. If you're interested, let me know and I'll post. **

**Thanks for reading. **

**Hobey-Ho**


End file.
